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The year is 500 ABY.

On the ancient world of Valendia, the time has come for a new King. The Valendian capital, LeÃ¡ Monde, is a vast city with a rich history. For a long time it lay devastated and abandoned after a series of violent earthquakes, but almost four hundred years ago it was rebuilt by an Imperial noble named Joshua Bardorba, who later proclaimed himself to be the first King of Valendia.

For these past four centuries the line of Joshua has ruled unchallenged and uninterrupted. But when the last monarch died without any apparent heir, a great search was begun to find families across the galaxy who could prove a connection to the Bardorba bloodline.

That search has resulted in four young candidates, each the eldest son in their respective families, all with a claim to the vacant throne. Accompanied by their fathers, these boys have arrived in LeÃ¡ Monde to be locked away in the Great Cathedral. There they will undergo a series of spiritual and physical tests to determine their worthiness.

For the quartet of fathers who are left outside, a long and anxious wait seems to be ahead. Little do they know that the day?s most challenging trials will be for them and not their sons...

A great many evils are converging within the city, and a terrible secret has been unearthed beneath it. By nightfall, the walls of LeÃ¡ Monde will shake once again.

[hr]

Setting

Welcome to the game.

Though this game is a sequel, no knowledge of [link=http://boards.theforce.net/r/b10328/28213799]the first game[/link] is required to enjoy this one. Both games draw inspiration from an old PSone RPG called [link=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vagrant_Story]Vagrant Story[/link].

The state of the galaxy is unimportant to this game, as the story takes place entirely within the city of LeÃ¡ Monde. As stated in the introduction above, four fathers have come to the city, each with their eldest son in tow, hoping that their boy can stake a claim to Valendia's vacant throne. There will be four players in this game, each of whom will play one of these fathers.

The last monarch, Queen Dalmasca, was only 21 years old when she died from a sudden illness. She passed without any heir apparent, and so the search began to find a successor.

As you might expect, the situation is a little more complex than that, but those are the essentials.

Valendia is currently ruled by Cardinal Batistum, a pious Muun who has personally supervised the search for new blood. He commands the Crimson Blades, an elite unit of bodyguards who have served the throne since the time of Joshua I.

The City is policed by the Valendia Knights of Peace (VKP), headed by by Grand Steward LeSait and his right-hand woman, Inquisitor Heldricht. They answer directly to Judge Magister Quilheim, a venerable Togorian.

LeÃ¡ Monde is not only the capital of Valendia, but its largest settlement by some distance. The City is a bustling metropolis divided roughly into four quadrants, each with a major landmark. The Snowfly Forest in the north, the Temple of Kiltia in the south, the King's Library in the east, and the Wyvern Brood in the west. The Great Cathedral sits dead centre, and the ancient catacombs lie beneath it all...

[hr]

Gameplay

We are scheduled to begin on Sunday 15th May.

The game will take place over ten RL weeks exactly (not including a "mid-season break", which will probably last about a fortnight and will take place around Week Five or Six). The reasons for this timeframe will become clear after the story starts.

Each father will move through the story separate from the others, and so it will be up to the individual player to determine the pace at which their own storyline proceeds. I don't mind if you want to post once a day or once a week. If you miss a week or two or three, I'll get you caught up.

I am pleased to see that sheets are starting to come in. I haven't accepted any yet because I want to give people a fair chance to send theirs in too.

Allow me to take the opportunity to introduce our cast of NPCs. I've woven a world of some depth for you to play in- how far you wish to explore it or learn about it is up to you. The following characters will not cross paths with every player, but will all play some role in the overall story.

[hr]

[blockquote]THE ROYAL COURT

Queen Dalmasca was only 21 years old when she died. Intelligent, beautiful and beloved, she was perceived by many to be a re-incarnation of a legendary saint named Ajora (the Valendians are a traditionally religious people, worshipping a large number of gods). Her death was the last of many tragedies to befall the royal line in recent years, and Court Genealogist Doctor Durai believed that by introducing distant, 'cleaner', blood, any curse over the dynasty might be broken. Thus the search for a successor began. This infuriated Lord Feldspar, illegitimate younger brother of the late Queen, who had always hoped for a chance at the crown.

Judge Magister Quilheim is a Togorian, head of the Valendian judiciary and the Queen's personal tutor and confidante. He has been deep in mourning since her death, emerging only to advise the VKP on public order matters.

THE CRIMSON BLADES

The Blades are an elite unit of soldiers who have served the throne since the time of Joshua I, and are modeled on the famous Imperial Knights (even down to their crimson armour). They answer directly to Cardinal Batistum, a Muun who rules the City on behalf of the monarch. Four of the Blades under his command have been dispatched as personal bodyguards to the fathers and sons who have arrived for the Day of Ascension. Voren'kaa, Trandoshan weapon-master of the Blades. Tamulis, a human who can trace her own lineage back to the restoration of the City. Eyre, a mysterious Umbaran who was recruited from within VKP Intelligence. And Stark, guard-captain and proud bearer of the ancient Holy Rood sword.

THE VALENDIAN KNIGHTS OF PEACE

The VKP have existed in some form for many centuries, and at one time policed the entire Valendian system. Now their jurisdiction is limited to Valendia alone, and their headquarters are deep within LeÃ¡ Monde's walls. They are headed by Grand Steward LeSait, a human war veteran who has never quite been able to escape the taint of association with a fascist political party in his youth. LeSait's right hand is a chain-smoking Chiss Inquisitor named Heldricht- she is feared by all who cross her, and for good reason. The VKP's brightest young talent is Korunnai investigator Kadessa deOrland, who is making quite a name for herself hunting down cultists (though she has a confrontational streak that has brought her into conflict with the Blades on more than one occasion).

MULLENKAMP

A long-forgotten Sith cult that has been reborn under the leadership of the charismatic Aldous Corinne, a heavily tattooed Falleen priest whose teachings involve the use of dark rituals and forbidden magics. He has eluded capture by the VKP for several years. His followers are fanatically loyal, none more so than his second-in-command, a Boltrunian brute named Haeralis.

OTHERS

Lumitar fon Papillon is a Snivvian scientist, who is also the richest individual on Valendia. His company, Lumitar Industries, specialise in genetic modification and experimentation.

Ashley Riot and his son Marco are a pair of Sephi who ostensibly came to the City so that Marco could stake his own claim for the throne. Having been dismissed by the Cardinal, they have opted to remain in the City, and their intentions are unknown...
[/blockquote]

Name: Floryn Koradoro
Age: 54
Species: Wroonian
Appearance: Stately, thin, and tall, he has taken to wearing his long gray streaked hair in a simple knot. As all Wroonians, his skin is blue, his eyes golden, and his dress ornate.
Homeworld: Saleucami
Occupation: Poet and Imperial Earl
Force sensitivity? (Y/N): No

Joint Bio: Soon after his birth, it was apparent to the parents of Valance Korodoro (Of the Saleucami Korodoros?; Yes, yes, quite right; Oh, well he looks nothing like his father; Yes, yes, they say he takes after the mother...) that he was special. As a tribute, and a show of devotion to the Emperor, a sample of their son's blood was sent to the capitol for testing. An Imperial Knight among their family would bring great honor.

Valance was not accepted into their ranks for training. Apparently, the boy was not special after all.

The famous Floryn Korodoro - Lord of Saleucami under the Empire, scion of the family that had ruled the world for over a century, galaxy-renowned poet since his youth - found that the older Valance got, the less alike they were. The boy did not attend to his studies, nor his spiritual pursuits. He had no interest in literature or culture, the arts or sciences. In fact, he spent much of his time in the pursuit of brutish athletics. The boy was not dull - not exceptionally so - he just had no interest. The older Valance became, the more sports came to consume his energies, the less and less he and his father had to talk about. There was nothing wrong with recreational sporting for pleasure, but it was not in the body but the mind that true power and grace came. The Lady Korodoro urged her husband that Valance was only a boy, that it was natural for him to want to differentiate himself from his father and from his older sisters, that a child could never engage a grown man intellectually. The Lady, Floryn decided, did not fully understand the importance of dynasty. Could such a boy as Valance be the heir to the House Korodoro?

This had to be nipped in the bud. At the age of twelve, Valance was sent to Valendia to study. Perhaps a new environment would force a change. The ensuing four years did little to repair their relationship, however; the boy returned to Saleucami with less frequency until, finally, he had not been home since his fifteenth birthday.

But with the death of the Queen, and this new opportunity, Floryn suddenly finds himself visiting his son, instead.

Joint Bio: There was always a bond between father and son. But they have both considered it a curse and not a lbessing since DorianÂ´s birth. Calen Rohn was one of the most famous and appreciated painters of his time, when he was younger. Hologrpahic painting became a different artform through his early works. He married a beautiful woman, betrayed her iwth many others who were as beautiful and became incredibly rich through selling anything he programmed. The galaxy was his! Then his son was born and things changed. The night his son killed his wife (and there was no other way to see it from CalenÂ´s point of few) a great galactic war broke out and when Coruscant was bombarded with it burned the great galalctic museum. The fire destroyed most of CalenÂ´s works. His son killed his wife. His life suddenly seemed to have ended.

One has to admit, despite the tragic way he came into life, Calen tried to be a good father for his son. Drinking, a spcie addiction and the constant frustration of failure as paitner made this not easier. His son grew up with only one wish. Become different than his father. Dorian trained a lot, tried to become a physical person. Sports. Schools for battle. And while both had only each other, as Calen moved around the galaxy, looking for the one motive that would restore the artist inside of him, Dorian grew more and more distant to him. Now they have arrived on Lea Monde, where Calen intends to paint something about the quarters of the city. He has yet to start work and probably never will. But at least it is a city with people and that makes Dorian happy enough. As he looks around and starts to consider, when the day might come to leave his father and start an own life. A happy life. With . . . a purpose.

Joint Bio: Sinwara and Avidan Malreaux represent a lesson in survival, no matter what the means are required. Five centuries ago, back on Vjun, House Malreaux was decimated by its own stupidity, genetically creating Force users in mad experiments that saw the masses wipe themselves out in madness, no one was spared, not even the nobles. The Jedi and Sith slyly pushed this along, and took the prizes for themselves. But the house was not destroyed, and, painstakingly tracing its lineage back to Lamiur IV, where the house had originally been exiled from, into the Stygian Caldera, before the foundation of the modern houses. And now, from Lamiur IV, House Malreaux rules the former Freeworlds region of the Tapani Sector, using its Force sensitivity as a tool to manoeuvre Houses Pelagia and Mecetti against each other until they were strong - if informally trained.

However, those manoeuvres require a hard mind, and a steel grip upon the family, and Dracul Malreaux, father of Sinwara and Avidan Malreaux, was no different than former heads of the household. Only more perverse in his insurance of power. When tangled politics gave birth to the woman who would become Lady Malreaux, the scion of all but the noble houses of Pelagia and Mecetti, Father ordered his twin eldest born sons to both marry her, and there was to be no argument brooked. They eventually were even made to procreate, though difficulties arose, and by the time Gavril was born, it was unclear which brother had fathered the boy, and tests couldn?t distinguish between the Avidan and Sinwara.

Lady Sorina Malreaux's death changed everything. The circumstances were such that there could be little doubt who was responsible, even though nothing could be proved. Avidan's hatred for his father started to take on a murderous note, and as such he began slowly poisoning the old man. Sinwara has no knowledge of this so far as Avidan is aware.

Sorina had been about the only person he had ever loved. The fact that Sinwara had as well, and that she had cared for both of them, had been the lone reason that Avidan hadn't been more inclined towards removing his troublesome brother.

Lord Malreaux is going to have the last laugh however, having sent Sinwara and Avidan to Valendia, to try and garner as much power for their house as possible. Avidan has insured that upon their return it will be the brothers alone who rule the house... but how much longer there will be two remains to be seen. Avidan is still debating this, as for love of Sorina he wants both his brother and son to live... even though he wants power for himself. Sinwara, for his part, just wants to see Gavril through this terrible trial, aware of the terrors that Sorina used to tell him of, in her family legends, that were birthed on Valendia...

The Nordic family come from a long line of Nobles in the Mid Rim planet of Naboo. They all but died out with the exception of Glyndon and Brendon. Glyndon was not the typical noble nor parent. An eccentric who throws himself in to his work of odd inventions, he has been called mad by the other nobles, making him a sort of outcast in Naboo noble society. His wife Della died from a rare disease that she caught from a backfired experiment of her husbands. Leaving Glyndon alone to raise their eight year old son Brendon.

The years had been hard for the Nordics. The relationship between father and son had been anything but smooth. Brendon now a teenager blames his father for his mothers death. He barely speaks to him. His private school mates laugh at him because of the reputation of his father. Brendon worked hard to show his mates that he was far from being like his father. He was no fool, he was no clown and he especially was not mad. It took awhile but Brendon finally created his own reputation as a cool, rebellious teen who didn't back down to anyone. His popularity rose and he was quickly accepted by his peers.

Glyndon knew what other people had thought of him. But this kind happy go lucky man didn't give it a care. He would brush things aside and go merrily on his way. He was a bit clumsy at times and mumbled what appeared to be nonsense. His hair was usually disheveled and wore bright colored clothes that could be seen from a mile away. Though Glyndon was eccentric, he was highly intelligent, infact he won the Galactic Noble Prize for his invention of small animal style droids. His accomplishments were many but normally overlooked by his strange behavior.

The rift between father and son weighs a toll on Glyndon. He tries to talk to his son, but Brendon either walks away or ignores him. He never lets the pain show through his emotions. His love for his son is unparalleled. He hopes that one day he could change the heart of his son and repair the void in his life. His effort started with a trip to Lea' Monde. Hoping that the trip would help their relationship. What he didn't plan was what happened while they were there.

We have all our players. Welcome to the five of you. We begin as scheduled on Sunday. I would recommend you take a little time to re-read the Opening Post, and familiarise yourself with the cast of characters in my previous post, if you have not already done so.
[hr]
[blockquote]

Four boys- Valance Koradoro, Dorian Rohn, Gavril Malreaux and Brendan Nordic- had been presented to the City a week earlier with their fathers. Now they arrived at the Grand Cathedral. Cardinal Batistum greeted each of them in turn before giving a final speech to the expectant masses who had assembled outside. By the end of this day, he said, we will have our new King.

And then he disappeared inside, and the great doors were sealed shut. There were to be no live updates for the crowd, no holofeed from inside the building, no further announcements at all. That did not stop the news reporters from speculating, of course. Every man on the street claimed to have a contact on the inside, someone who could hint at the shape or form of the trials facing the young candidates. All the conjecture served only to heighten the general mood of anticipation...

[The four boys] had been well-received by the people. They were all handsome and fit for their age. We were rigorous in our selection...the blood tie to the Bardorba dynasty was well established in each case. Rohn was considered to be the dark horse contender, and was strongly backed at certain bookmakers. He was perceived as being the most capable for any physical challenge. Malreaux came shrouded in a certain mystery despite his noble heritage, and it was unclear whether the unusual circumstances of his parentage had repulsed or fascinated the public. Perhaps both. Nordic, cool and collected, was certainly the most popular among young people.

But Koradoro was widely considered to be the favourite for three reasons. The first was his father's fame and status. The second was that the boy was already studying on Valendia, which led some observers to suggest that we had been grooming him from an early age, and that this contest was a charade. The third reason was that he was the only one of the candidates whose mother was still alive, and that it was preferable for a new Royal Family to come as a complete package, so to speak.

This was all nonsense, at least from our perspective, and had not influenced our search as far as I was concerned. Though perhaps the Cardinal took such issues into account. He was intensely secretive, even during our planning, and would not share his criteria for the final selection. I was willing to submit to his authority, and in some sense it did not matter. Any decision was acceptable- there was obviously no undesirable candidate among the four. Like the rest of the crowd, I waited for the new King to emerge at the end of the day on the Cathedral balcony, and for the Ascension Day celebrations to begin.

It was true that the events of that day would long be remembered, and indeed an ascension took place...

- Excerpt from the memoirs of Doctor Durai, Court Historian and Genealogist
[/blockquote]

OOC: So we begin. There's a few thing you should know before we start.

1. The story takes place over a period of 24 hours, roughly.
2. The fathers have all met when they arrived in the City about a week ago. So if you bump into each other, you'll recognise each other.
3. As mentioned in the characters post, each father has been assigned a bodyguard while the boys are undergoing their trials.
4. As mentioned in the OP, the game will take place over 10 weeks, RL time, not including a "mid-season" break.

Along the City walls stood the watchtower, looming over the Western quarter. It was here that the Valendian judiciary was based, and at the very top of the tower were the chambers of Judge Magister Quilheim, the venerable Togorian who had mentored the late Queen. Since her death he had been in mourning, emerging only to fulfil his duties to the City, and even then with a paw upon his brow and a mind far, far away. But today he was entertaining.

"I had the honour of meeting the Emperor once," he said in his deep growl. "I was practically still a cub then. And Emperors are intimidating creatures, for cubs."

The man at the Judge's side was Floryn Koradoro, Lord of Saleucami and father to one of the candidates for King. Together they gazed out at the Tircolas Flow, the wide river that ran down from the mountains, straight through the center of the City.

"I invited you here," continued the Judge, "to speak with you as one Imperial servant to another. Today will not be a happy day for Valendia. There is still time to withdraw your boy's candidature, I can arrange it. Leave the City."

In the back of the room stood Voren'kaa, weapon-master of the Crimson Blades and current bodyguard to the Earl. He watched, and listened, and stayed quiet.

Tag: BobaMatt

[hr]

PCs: Glyndon Nordic
NPCs: Captain Eyre, street prophet

Wyvern Brood, City West

"The end is coming!" screamed the Duros, waving his arms frantically.

"I'm sorry," said Captain Eyre. "I thought it would be quiet today, but sometimes the crazies just show up in the strangest places."

She was apologising to the man she was protecting for the day, Glyndon Nordic- Naboo inventor and father to one of the candidates for King. They were standing at the Wyvern Brood, an astonishing metallic sculpture of an enormous wyvern and its young. Its wings were wide and outstretched into the air, and its face was contorted into a primal roar. Nestled at the foot of its spindly front legs were newborn wyverns still emerging from their eggs, sculpted with the same loving detail.

The sculptures were iconic to LeÃ¡ Monde, and the predictable legend was that the wyvern had once been alive. The stories said that it had raged around a mineshaft beneath the city before being defeated in battle and turned to stone.

A stream of the Tircolas Flow, the river that ran through the City, bubbled gently alongside the sculptures. Standing knee deep in the water, furiously washing his face, was the Duros. Eyre and Nordic were standing a few feet away, trying their best to ignore him. There was no one else around.

"That's enough," sighed Eyre, reaching for the vibrosword that was sheathed at her side. "Move along, scum, or I'll move you."

"The sins of the father!" cried the Duros, suddenly fixated upon Nordic. "The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son!"

Tag: JEDI_TEEGIRLOO

[hr]

PCs: Calen Rohn
NPCs: Guard-Captain Stark

Snowfly Forest, City North

It was a curious thing to find a forest inside the walls of a city. The edges of the forest saw trees with roots embedded into the road, and patches of stonework marked out a token border. But once you were inside, all the signs of civilisation slowly disappeared. The purple-leaved sirpars curved around your head, and strange white-green plants twisted at your feet like sentient beings. Deep inside the forest,

SinrebirthImmortal Mod-King of the EUC, RPF and SWCStaff MemberManager

Registered:

Nov 15, 2004

IC: Sinwara MalreauxWaterways, City East

[blockquote]Sinwara Malreaux had decided long before it had been apparent that their destination was to be the waterways that he did not like Captain Tamulis. She seemed to have an ethereal aspect to her that insulted Sinwara's senses, even though he himself was very sure that this perception of the woman was entirely illusionary. In-fact, Sinwara was of the opinion that the entire bodyguard charade was simply to distract him from his son, though he presupposed it was a necessary element to such a day, especially during the troubled times that confronted Valendia.

And now they were in the presence of a bastard.

Most unbecoming.

Sinwara soothed his high-and-mighty thoughts, recognising that they were not a product of himself, but of his father. The younger brother of the two (by twelve minutes) had only allowed himself to be coerced into following Tamulis because of Gavril, and now they had this to deal with. Sinwara saw no need to respond; Avidan would put the upstart into his place.

Affecting an air of disinterest - he was nobility who could trace his heritage back eleven thousand years - Sinwara turned away, only half his face even paying attention to Lord Feldspar.[/blockquote]

The Captain had brought him to the forest. Of course. The forest. Take the painter to the forest. He had behaved like it was very appreciated by him. Beauty actually was a constant reminder of his ability to catch it these days. And seeing the exotic lines of trees and wildlife in a place as interesting as forest inside a city was torture for his raging ego. But he faked interest. As much as he had faked interest in the contest of his son against the sons of the others. He had come here to reconnect with his roots, instead his son reconnected and he was left with the soldier.

This was about the boy. always about the boy. And he loved him so much, he felt great regret of not supporting him anymore. Then again, the best father was sometimes the one a boy could hate. By becoming a better man than Calen, his son might actually become a man at all.

That his selfishness was the reason for their bad relationship, never crossed CalenÂ´s mind. If it did he forced it out. If he needed to with an extra dose of Paril. the calming and mindblurring quality of the rare and addictive spice was very appreciated by Calen on days like this. It numbed the pain. Both physically and mentally. If the guard would not have awlked behind him, he would have had a hard to resist the possibility of taking some now.

"Really nice. A wonderful forest." He mumbled, walking on.

Then he saw something. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a light. flickering. Flying. He turned his attention to the tiny insectsthat hurled in the forest breeze. The circled above a small steam nearby. It was apicture not evne his numbed, tortured soul could deny. Pure and perfect beauty. He stepped closer. Every detail burned into his memories. He did not realize it yet, but an old path began to wind down into his consciosuness. He had begun to create a picture out of this.

"TheyÂ´re unlike anything IÂ´ve ever seen." He whispered. Probably the guardsman considered his reaction to strong, but what did a guard know of beauty?

"Those are the snowflies," explained Guardsman Stark.

Snowfly Forest. Someone with the heart of an artist had surely given it his name. "I see."

"They gather where darkness runs deepest. Or so the stories say." The guardsman, Calen thought he had heard he was some kind of Captain of the guard, explained. Calen dropped to one knee and touched the water of the stream. It felt cool and refreshing. His eyes did not leave the Snowflies.

"Like so many things. Like so many things." He said and smiled. It was sardonic smile. bitterness mixed into it. Turning his head to the Captain he nodded.

"Let us follow this stream. I wanna see where they come from and they are clearly drawn to this water." He said and stood up. It was the authority unlike any King had. The authority of the pure drive a creative genious preparing a masterpiece. And it was a lot of this authority, as it had laid dormant for ages.

He smiled and began to walk. Nodding gracefully to the Captain. "Thank you, dear Sir. A truly wonderful forest. Truly wonderful." And despite using the same words as before, this time they sounded genuine.

[ul]Paying no mind to the bodyguard that was assigned to him, Glyndon Nordic stood gazing at the enormous metallic sculpture of a Wyvern and its younglings. Eying every detail in amazement. He made faces while trying to duplicate the roar of the Wyvern. He even climbed on top of it, so he could get a better view of the eyes that seemed to hypnotize him at each glance. His hands became a bit sweaty, which in turn made him slip a few times. He found himself dangling from the head of the Wyvern, but managed to get back on by swinging his legs. Now he was on the back of the Wyvern, riding him like a beast master.

All the while he kept muttering the words "Amazing......Simply Amazing."
He would have continued in this state if not for being startled by a Duros shouting nearby.

"The end is coming!"

He looked down to see the what the commotion was and heard the words once again. "The end is coming!" Deciding to find out more, Glyndon slid down the back of the Wyvern like a child on a slide and landed with his feet on the ground. His pant legs wet from the Tircolas Flow.

"I'm sorry," said Captain Eyre. "I thought it would be quiet today, but sometimes the crazies just show up in the strangest places."

"Aren't we lucky" replied Glyndon with a smile so wide you can almost see all of his pearly white teeth.

"The end is coming!" cried the Duros once again.

"And on a magnificent day." Glyndon said as he held up his arms in praise.

"You cannot escape it!" the Duros shrieked at them. "We must wash our wickedness away!" Glyndon had a sudden urge to bathe in the Tircolas Flow, but decided against it.

That's enough," sighed Eyre, reaching for the vibrosword that was sheathed at her side. "Move along, scum, or I'll move you."

"The sins of the father!" cried the Duros, suddenly fixated upon Nordic. "The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son!"

Glyndon was not frightened by the words, but did ponder on what the Duros said. Then serenely gazed with a smile on his face and said. "Yes sins have a way of passing down my friend, but the true measure is to not allow it to overcome you." Then Glyndon once again turned his attention toward the Wyvern sculpture as if nothing ever happened. [/ul]

[blockquote]The poet sipped from a flute of something local and aromatic as the Judge Magister spoke from behind him. "I had the honour of meeting the Emperor once," the Togorian growled. "I was practically still a cub then. And Emperors are intimidating creatures, for cubs."

The poet delicately narrowed the blue lids of his golden eyes, obscuring ever so slightly his view of the expansive city below. His narrowed view seemed to highlight the sun's glinting off the river as it ran through the city's walls, even as the outlines of building became blurry and dim. He shut his eyes to squeeze out the glare and opened them again. Shapes regained their edges, separating themselves from sky. Concrete realities reemerged from the darkness. How Lord Korodoro envied the Creator - the Earl of Saleucami was a craftsman of words, and words were so inadequate in expressing truths and aims. For example: it was unlikely that the great shaggy beast of a Magister thought he was being subtle. He was driving at something, but unsure how to respond, and fully aware of the power of silence - the comma, the end stop, the enjambment, the brief intake of breath between ideas - he decided to say nothing. In fact, he decided not to turn around at all. Instead, he took another sip from the fial and listened to Quilheim's snuffling breath. Predictably, the Judge Magister went on, drawing himself up beside the Lord of Saleucami to gaze outward.

"I invited you here," he continued, grave, perhaps weary, "to speak with you as one Imperial servant to another. Today will not be a happy day for Valendia. There is still time to withdraw your boy's candidature, I can arrange it. Leave the City."

Floryn Korodoro allowed a smile to cross his full Wroonian lips as he turned his head to look at his host. He did not consider himself to have a broad working knowledge of Togorian facial expressions, but he surmised the beast must be serious. His smile only vaguely faltered. "Your Honor," he said softly, "surely you're not one of these, er, Lea Monders who believe the world is ending? Valendia needs a King, and my son is as good as any. In fact, he's the favorite! Ha! 'Withdraw,' he says." He turned to see if the burly Trandoshan was listening. He couldn't tell if the lizard was amused.

"Surely," he continued to the Togorian, "you can be more specific?" He extinguished the smile from his face. "Your Honor if there is some danger you must tell me. Please...please don't misinterpret my reaction. I hold your opinion in the utmost seriousness, but really now, you mustn't think I'd do such a thing simply because, I don't know..."

He searched the air for words, "...simply because you have a bad feeling about this."[/blockquote]

Every Monday there will be an update like the one below. Now, perhaps, it will become clear why we will play for ten weeks.

[hr]
[blockquote]

[link=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E3MB2NnFbLA]"Digging Out The Past"[/link]
-Jumanji, James Horner
[blockquote]
"And the LORD spake unto Moses, Say unto Aaron, Take thy rod, and stretch out thine hand upon the waters of Egypt, upon their streams, upon their rivers, and upon their ponds, and upon all their pools of water, that they may become blood; and that there may be blood throughout all the land of Egypt, both in vessels of wood, and in vessels of stone."
-Exodus (7:19)
[/blockquote]
[hr]
PCs: Floryn Korodoro
NPCs: Judge Magister Quilheim, Captain Voren'kaa

The Watchtower, City West

Voren'kaa listened from the door, utterly impassive throughout the conversation. Only when Floryn turned briefly towards him did his expression flicker, ever so slightly, his reptilian features twisting into something that might have been amusement.

The Judge Magister was in far more solemn mood.

"A bad feeling?" he echoed, shaking his great mane. "If only my warning was predicated upon something so insubstantial. My calling is the law, Lord Korodoro. I judge on evidence, not instinct. There are forces at work that I will not openly speak of, but suffice it to say that-"

He broke off, and his gaze fell upon the Tircolas Flow. From the distant horizon all the way down to the City itself, the great river was blushing. Beneath the clear morning sky it had looked a vibrant blue...but now it was quickly transforming into a savage red. The water churned and frothed madly as it transformed, and soon enough it was completely crimson.

Within moments, screams rang out from the City.

"Then it is already too late," said the Judge Magister. He bowed his head. "Very well. Leave me be."

He sunk heavily into his great chair, and gestured towards the door with his paw.

Tag: BobaMatt

[hr]

PCs: Glyndon Nordic
NPCs: Captain Eyre, street prophet

Wyvern Brood, City West

The Duros seemed speechless. Perhaps he had simply never encountered someone who had responded to him so evenly, or perhaps he didn't know what to make of the strange, eccentric figure climbing the Wyvern sculptures.

"Right then," said Eyre, taking the opportunity to intervene again. As an Umbaran she was used to persuading others a lot more easily than this. "Away with you. Go home."

She pushed a hand into the would-be prophet's shoulder, slightly harder than necessary, and sent him stumbling into the stream. Patches of scarlet bloomed around his knees.

"What the..." began Eyre, furrowing her brow. She had not expected to injure the man.

But it soon became clear that she hadn't. Red smoke seemed to be blossoming in the water, changing its colour. If Glyndon climbed back to the top of the sculptures, he would be able to see that the entire stream was turning red, as far as the eye could see.

And then came the smell.

"It is the end!" wailed the Duros, falling again to his knees. "We are too late!"

Eyre bent down, touching the water gingerly with the tips of her gloves. She placed it upon her lips.

Captain Stark smiled stiffly and nodded, pleased that the snowflies had captured Calen's interest but not really knowing how to respond the artist's sudden delight in his surroundings. Such flashes of inspiration were beyond the understanding of a simple soldier.

They followed the stream along as it began to widen, with Stark keeping a close eye on the trees along the bank. The forest was an easy place to get lost in, he had warned. He seemed to be able to find his way by checking the moss growth on each tree, as if the patterns were recognisable. Perhaps they were, for someone who knew the forest so well.

[blockquote]Floryn Korodoro rose from his seat. "Your Honor," he said, "please, I didn't mean..." But the Togorian was impassive, staring out at the river which seemed to have taken on a red tint in the waning light. The Wroonian pursed his lips and nodded. "Very well. My apologies, Your Honor. I think only of Valendia." He bowed to the Judge Magister's back and backed away, only turning to face the crimson-armored Trandoshan Blade after he'd neared the door. He grinned, frustrated by his body guard's reptilian impassivity. "Shall we?"

What could Quilheim have meant? "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," yes; it is a difficult time for Valendia. But that is why they needed leadership, and the other candidates were unsuited to a throne. They stood no chance against Valance, who was sharp of mind - if he'd only apply himself! - and virile of body. Glyndon Nordic was insane, and insanity is too often inherited; the Malreaux family was disgraceful; and no amount of beautifully laid paint could transform Dorian Rohn's blood the requisite shade of purple to hold such an office. It was no wonder Valance was the frontrunner

As they traversed the corridors at the top of the corridor and were about to make their way down, Lord Korodoro heard a wail rise up from the streets below, a terrified moan, a ruckus. Something was happening. He looked up at Voren'kaa. "Perhaps you should go first?"[/blockquote]

OOC: sorry for the wait. was literally working for three days solid on an animation for class.

also, this is a bit of a combine between myself and sinre.

IC: Avidan MalreauxWaterways, City East

[blockquote]Jaw jutting out, and brows lowered in disgust, Avidan Malreaux was not impressed with the choice of meeting place in the least. He had managed to get past the gag reflex that the stench caused, but only just. Strength of will was the only thing holding it down, but he refused to degrade himself in such a manner in front of a commoner. A woman at that.

Being exceedingly careful not to touch anything, Avidan followed along behind his brother Sinwara, who was having his own difficulties. But they seemed more related to the personage they were both following in Captain Tamulis if his steady glare into her back was any indication. Sinwara didn't trust her, didn't like her, and Avidan was of much the same mind. Their mental link, always present, told him Sinwara's thoughts on the woman quite plainly, if his ability to read body language hadn't done just as much.

Coming to a set of stairs, Avidan stared at them for a moment. Rusted, scum encrusted, and treacherous. Looking at the railing, the Noble was afraid that his skin tight rancor leather gloves were going to be soiled. Odds were his boots would never be the same as it was. Good thing I didn't wear the ones Ori gave me. I'd have flayed this guard alive had that been the case. Lip rising up in disgust, Avidan touched the fewest fingers he could to the rail for support and climbed up. The stink became worse, as did Avidan's attitude.

Finally they came to the man they were meeting, and as soon as his face was revealed Avidan knew they were wasting their time. There was nothing a bastard could offer them, even one such as Lord Feldspar. Sinwara completely ignored the upstart snob leaving Avidan the pleasure of putting the man in his place.

Before Avidan could reply something below them began to change. Finding it more interesting than the bastard before him, Avidan looked down and saw something red spreading throughout the water beneath them. Eyebrows rising in surprise Avidan could feel a similar shock running through his brother. What the deuce? It became readily apparent what had happened as the scent around them changed drastically. Sewage filled blood. Closing his eyes it took literally all of his willpower not to succumb to this new overwhelming fetor.

Sinwara's attention was piqued by the gruel of an odor that assaulted him, putting his handkerchief to his nose and inhaling the sweet perfumes attached to it. In a city such as Valendia, these were necessary evils, to prevent him from losing his bowels, which would be most unbearable. The revulsion bubbling up via their twin bond doubled the emotion, and Sinwara took a breath from his impromptu face-mask to calm his nerves, which then forced him to swallow down bile when the smell even seeped past the scent of Haruun Kal pine. He winced, taking a half step aside and then peering into the sludge because, after all, if Sinwara could not confront evil, then how could he expect the common folk?

His skin turned a shade of colour none too dissimilar to the ooze, but it was not this which had caused his blood to run like jagged ice.

For Feldspar was not so perturbed, and he looked straight at Tamulis.

It was the mention of Corinne that replaced his blood with wintrium, the terrorist leader of the Mullenkamp; the cult that dear Rina - his pet name for Sorina, while Avidan took Ori, if only to create a separation between the woman they had both loved, and both bedded - had told him about, that had caused her to thrash in her sleep. She did not fear the Mecrosa, the Tapani answer to Lord Nyax, but a mention of the Mullenkamp had made her all but burst into tears, an even more troubling aspect to their relationship, especially when she confided that she only had these nightmares when she lay with him. Sinwara had never had the gall to ask what nightmares

OOC: No worries, Trim, as I said in the opening post we can go at your own pace. I'll only jump characters on when I need to for plague updates. Love the combine.

Matt, can't beat a bit of BSG OST. And also the Prince of Egypt track in Hooper was exactly what was playing when I first conceived this game.

[hr]
[blockquote]

PCs: Floryn Korodoro
NPCs: Captain Voren'kaa, Grand Stewart LeSait

Leaving the Watchtower, City West

Voren'kaa agreed and led the way down to the ground floor, one hand on the hilt of his vibroblade.

"Have faith in the Cardinal," he rasped as they left the turbolift. "The Judge Magister does not know what he is saying- he is still grieving."

The watchtower front gates swung upon, revealing a near-anarchic scene. Masses of people were running around in loose groups, and many of them were covered in what appeared to be blood. There were cries of anger and confusion all around. It was not unusual to see so many people in the streets- that was fully expected for Ascension Day- but the reason for the chaos was not apparent.

On a huge holo-streamer that ran across a billboard on the sidewalk there were the latest news headlines. The top news story read:

'FON PAPILLON CLEARED OF ATTEMPTED MURDER CHARGES'

But then the headline vanished, and was replaced by:

'BREAKING NEWS: TIRCOLAS FLOW POLLUTED BY BLOOD...'

"Everybody stay calm!" bellowed a voice.

Voren'kaa and Floryn turned around to see a man storming out of the Watchtower, flanked by five guards of the Valendian Knights of Peace. He was balding, slightly overweight and stern-faced, and armed to the teeth: he had at least four blasters holstered around various parts of his body. Grand Stewart LeSait, head of the VKP. Presumably he had been in the Watchtower on official business.

"Get back to your homes!" ordered LeSait. His voice carried well, and the people reluctantly began to disperse. He glanced around and noticed Voren'kaa and Floryn.

"Lord Korodoro," he grunted, nodding his head. "Business with the Judge?"

Tamulis seemed somewhat annoyed at Avidan's words, but nothing more. She simply raised a disdainful eyebrow as they walked away. Clearly her duties as bodyguard were not of particular priority to her.

Feldspar, however, appeared to feel differently.

"You dare?" he snarled, shaking a fist at the brothers' backs. "You dare dismiss the rightful King of Valendia so scornfully?"

And suddenly, each of the Malreaux brothers felt a forceful nudge at their ankles. If they were unable to resist, it would be enough to trip them over the edge of the walkway and into the blood pit below.

[blockquote]Something flared in his mind, a little warning of an impending attack, and suddenly Avidan's feet were swept to the side. Grabbing at the railing, not minding the scum for the moment, he managed to avoid falling into the bloody sludge below them. Avidan wasn't entirely certain about Sinwara, who had never been much of a fighter as could be seen by his slight paunch and rounder, pudgier face. But there were other things to occupy his mind for the moment.

Managing to not end up bloodsoaked, and in danger of drowning, Avidan rounded on Feldspar with eyes blazing in anger. Dracul Malreaux had done worse to them before breakfast as they grew up, and his twisted pleasures and displays of power had only grown more subtle as the brothers grew older, perhaps culminating in forcing them to marry the same woman and father the same son, or perhaps what had truly sent Avidan over the edge into the subtle madness he currently lived in was that Dracul had killed Sorina, and left a clue that only one of the brothers would understand. Avidan had been the only one to get it, and in one of his rare bouts of kindness had hidden the truth from the more delicate Sinwara. Instead he let his brother mourn with their son... while he had plotted revenge. Odds where their father would be dead within twenty-four hours, or by the time the next ruler was chosen. A ruler that was not standing before him in front of a crimson waste disposal.

A commanding aura suffused Avidan as he slowly walked towards the bastard. His voice was low, soft, with a disturbed coldness to it should the other man be capable of actually grasping such subtleties at the moment. "I dare, bastard, because you are a pimple on my buttocks. An annoyance to be lanced and forgotten about. You want to rule a single planet, an intriguing one admittedly, but merely one. Our father, and soon I, effectively rule systems. Your petty wishes, the wishes of an ignoble whelp sired in a lustful moment by a man who could not keep what should have been his wife's alone where it belonged, do not matter. You are the seed of lust, and worthless and utterly beneath notice by your betters that you so sadly aspire to pretend to be one of. Should you try something else like that, mynock, I will have a new pair of boots and gloves that will come from the flesh flayed from your hide." He paused, nose merely an inch from the other mans, despite the flecks of folderol that speckled his face.

Pointedly, Avidan wiped his soiled hands on Feldspars chest before straightening, and speaking in a more normal tone. "Do we understand each other, wastrel?" Finally composed enough to check on their bond, Avidan sought out knowledge of his brother's current situation.[/blockquote]

TAG: SINRE, WINGED

OOC: hope that's not too over the top winged. if there's anything in there you don't want done, lemme know and i can re-write.

The stream turned into blood and to his surprise Calen felt no change in his core feeling. Fascination. quickly he took out his holorecorder and began to paint some rough lines. For someone unsued to his skills in the craft they appeared probabl frightening detailed for such a fast effort. "DonÂ´t look so afraid, Captain. Blood. Blood in the stream. You can start getting religious now. Or simply draw the proper conclusion, my Captain."

Calen grinned. "Where there is blood, there is a body." He hissed. "Or bodies." He then added and lay his hand to the side. "Believe me, I Master of the Art knows an arrangment when he sees one. And isnÂ´t it beautiful in itÂ´s own disgusting way?"

Calen stood up and stepped nearer to the river. he tried to make out any details in and around the source of the blood. Then he turned to the shore to look for footprints.

SinrebirthImmortal Mod-King of the EUC, RPF and SWCStaff MemberManager

Registered:

Nov 15, 2004

IC: Sinwara MalreauxWaterways, City East

[blockquote]Sinwara's mind was somewhat numbed by the possibility that the Mullenkamp were active today of all days - Gavril, he thought, panic rising within him - and he was a second or two behind his twin and as such had not yet crested the steps when his feet were unceremoniously taken from beneath his weight.

This was a good thing, as was he atop those steps he imagined that the combined complexity of the height and his slight bulk would have sent him into the crimson ooze. As it was, the steps proved a massive complication, and he skidded down several of them, just about retaining his footing but leaning heavily upon the metal-like wall of the facility and crushing the scum coating it into his skin.

Wincing, Sinwara balanced himself as Avidan stormed past, towards Feldspar, completely ignoring the plight of his brother. He assumed the spawn was responsible for the act, but Sinwara simply glared at Tamulis, furious as his fear chilled into frustration. "You have been assigned to us as bodyguard, have you not?"

He waved his hand, in an attempt to remove the muck attached to his palm, noting that he had grazed himself slightly, to no avail. The tar was truly attached to his skin.

Aggravated, and becoming fearful again. This time, he was concerned by the thought a confrontation with Feldspar or - perhaps even and - Tamulis above a pit of blood, and he snapped at Feldspar.

"Just tell us what you want, and we can reject whatever idiocy you propose and leave."[/blockquote]

[ul]Glyndon thought the Duros was an intriguing figure full of fire and passion. He came to an agreement that he liked the little guy and enjoyed the conversation that they had. Unfortunately it was not enough of a entertaining discussion to keep his focus. Glyndon turned his attention back toward the sculpture and climbed on the back once again.

He could hear Eyre trying to persuade the Duros to leave once again. Glyndon, however was busy having a conversation with the Wyvern.

"Oh I know, yes I know people don't believe anymore that you existed. I do my friend and someday I will prove it to the galaxy. Oh the glory that will be when that day happens" Glyndon said with vigor.

While he was talking to Wyvern he heard a sudden splash from the Tircolas Flow. He looked down to see what happened and saw the Duros in the stream. There seemed to be patches of scarlet appearing in the water. It peaked Glyndon's interest. Then all of a sudden the patches became the stream itself taking over the water like a water beast taking swallowing it's prey.

Glyndon's eyes grew larger at the sight of the scarlet Tircolas Flow. He immediately climbed down to investigate this strange occurrence. His feet plopped on one of the newborn Wyvern. From there Glyndon leaped out avoiding getting his feet wet with the strange substance from the water.

What was happening to the stream was surprising to say the least, the smell was something else all together. "Whew" said Nordic holding his nose. "I think one of those Wyvern laid a bad egg."

"It is the end!" wailed the Duros, falling again to his knees. "We are too late!"

Eyre bent down, touching the water gingerly with the tips of her gloves. She placed it upon her lips.

"Blood?" repeated Glyndon as he touched the water with his finger. He put it up to his nose and sniffed.

"Fascinating"

Glyndon's mind was starting to race. This to him was like a puzzle, it peaked his curiosity to the highest point. So many questions were in his head. How could the entire Tircolas Flow turn to blood? Was this some sort of magic?

OOC: I love the BSG soundtrack, and it has a heavy Eastern/Mediterranean influence, the likes of which also seems to have found its way into Jan Duursema's artwork for Saleucami in the Republic comics.

IC: Floryn Korodoro

[link=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lq_BdJbFMg0&feature=related]Outside the Watchtower, City West[/link]

[blockquote]After hissing his agreement, Voren'kaa offered his reassurances. "Have faith in the Cardinal," he rasped as they left the turbolift. "The Judge Magister does not know what he is saying- he is still grieving."

"Of course," Korodoro nodded. "The Judge Magister can't be expected to be in the best of spirits. I'm sure he'll come around." Still, it felt odd to be speaking so casually considering the din from below. It sounded like they were about to walk into a riot. Could this be what Quilheim was talking about? The Togorian seemed genuinely concerned, and all things considered the old cat was anything but a trivial man. What could he have meant?

As the gates swung open and the sun stung Korodoro's eyes, he looked out upon an anarchic scene. Indeed, there appeared to be widespread panic, a near riot. The Wroonian allowed himself to fall in step slightly behind his reptilian guard, who was on alert. A streaming ticker on a nearby billboard blazed "FON PAPILLON CLEARED OF ATTEMPTED MURDER CHARGES" before quickly changing to "BREAKING NEWS: TIRCOLAS FLOW POLLUTED WITH BLOOD." Blood? No wonder there was a riot. Who could have done such a thing? The answer seemed obvious as soon as Lord Korodoro thought the question: Mullenkamp... The disgusting cult must be seeking to disrupt Ascension Day. Before the ticker could reveal any more, a voice cried out.

"Everybody stay calm!"

Lord Korodoro's head whipped in the direction of the voice, the first clear words he could hear amidst the clamor. Coming from the Watchtower was Grand Steward LeSait, a balding, overweight man that was somehow still in command of the VKP. It seemed odd that he happened to be in Watchtower, of all places, but then it made sense that Mullenkamp would be able to poison the river - in any other city on any other planet, security would be on high alert and active duty on such an important day. The Earl of Saleucami suppressed a sneer. The heavily armed Grand Steward impugned the crowd to return to their homes before noticing Korodoro and his guard.

"Lord Korodoro," he said, "Business with the Judge?"

Lord Korodoro bowed slightly. "Why yes. You too, I see?" He flashed a tight smile that did not quite extend to his eyes. "Actually, I consider myself rather lucky that you're here rather than at VKP headquarters protecting the City. Perhaps you can escort us somewhere a bit, er..." he scanned the rioting masses, "...quieter?"[/blockquote]

LeSait narrowed his eyes slightly- the veiled barb had not been lost on him.

"It might surprise you to learn that VKP Headquarters is one of the worst places to be for protecting the City," he said. "Crime doesn't happen inside administrative centers. Fortunately, that also makes it a safe destination for us to head to right now. If you'd like to follow me, my lord."

He gestured for the pair to step in line with his guard, though he glared at Voren'kaa for an instant...long enough to be noticed.

"Problem, Grand Steward?" hissed the Trandoshan.

"You, Blade," replied LeSait bluntly. "Is it necessary for you to follow Lord Korodoro like a bad smell? We can provide protection from here."

"I take my orders from the Cardinal," said Voren'kaa. LeSait merely frowned, and hopped inside a spacious VKP airspeeder that had been parked nearby.

"Come, my lord," he called to Floryn. "You and your shadow can travel with us to HQ until this...issue...has been resolved."

Tag: BobaMatt

[hr]

PCs: Glyndon Nordic
NPCs: Captain Eyre, street prophet

Wyvern Brood, City West

"This has never happened outside of legend," replied Eyre. "There are many tales of what this City was once like long ago, when it was still a dead land. Before it was restored by Joshua I. This...this is like something out of a faerie story."

The Duros prophet had scurried away, blood on his hands and knees, still ranting and raving.

"THE RED QUEEN RETURNS!" he screamed at them as he left.

Eyre watched him depart, before turning to Glyndon.

"Perhaps we should head back to the Cathedral soon," she suggested. "I don't know what's happening, but this isn't a good omen."

Tag: JEDI_TEEGIRLOO

[hr]

PCs: Calen Rohn
NPCs: Guard-Captain Stark, Marco Riot

Snowfly Forest, City North

Stark agreed that it was possible that a body, or more likely several bodies, could be responsible for the surge of blood into the water. He seemed disturbed by what he was seeing, but Calen's relative composure kept him calm.

They proceeded along the bank, and could see not footprints or any other distinguishing marks in the dirt. The blood appeared to be coming from within the ground itself, as if the soil of the City was bleeding.

After a few minutes of walking and coming no closer to finding the source of the strange change in the stream, they reached a small clearing. In the centre sat a small Sephi boy, no more than twelve years of age. He was sitting cross legged, with his eyes closed and his arms extended.

Calen would be able to recognise him immediately. The boy was Marco Riot, one of the candidates who had made the final shortlist for the throne and had come to Lea Monde to stake his claim, but had been dismissed by the Cardinal for ultimately having too weak a blood tie to the Bardorba dynasty. He had previously been accompanied by his father, Ashley, but there was no sign of anyone in the clearing beside Marco.

"Oh," said the boy, suddenly looking up at Calen and Stark. "Hello again, Mr Rohn."

Avidan's chilly tirade was enough to turn Feldspar's face a deeper shade of crimson than the blood below them. For a moment it seemed the man would try and at least say something in response, but his mouth opened and closed and no words came out.

Sinwara, though equally ready to leave, was somewhat more patient, asking for the terms of the 'offer' so that the brothers could formally reject it.

"Well," began Feldspar, his face still just inches from Avidan's, "I hadn't expected such-"

"Enough," interjected Tamulis. "We will find another way."

She waved both her hands. With her left she gestured towards Feldspar, lifting him like a rag doll and tossing him straight over the railing. With her right hand she made a sign similar to that of a figure eight, conjuring a swirl of strange bla

[blockquote]The barb wasn't lost on the man. Good. It wasn't meant to be. LeSait narrowed his eyes. "It might surprise you to learn that VKP Headquarters is one of the worst places to be for protecting the City. Crime doesn't happen inside administrative centers. Fortunately, that also makes it a safe destination for us to head to right now. If you'd like to follow me, my lord."

"Why of course. Thank you ever so much." Lord Korodoro didn't buy it one bit. Headquarters is precisely where the Head of VKP should be, coordinating city-wide efforts.

He was derailed from his train of thought by the man staring upward at the Trandoshan. The Blade hissed. "Problem, Grand Steward?"

"You, Blade," replied LeSait bluntly. "Is it necessary for you to follow Lord Korodoro like a bad smell? We can provide protection from here."

"I..." Korodoro began to protest, "...do you mean that he is given to following bad smells or are you implying that bad smells follow me? I don't smell bad."

He was, however, ignored. "I take my orders from the Cardinal," said Voren'kaa. LeSait merely frowned, and hopped inside a spacious VKP airspeeder that had been parked nearby.

"Come, my lord," he Lesait called to the Wroonian visitor. "You and your shadow can travel with us to HQ until this...issue...has been resolved."

He sat in the interior of the airspeeder as the hatch secured. Some moments passed in silence. Floryn could not resist turning to the Grand Steward and asking, "Much crime in the Judge Minister's office, then?" He did not expect an answer.

* * * *

As time passed in further uncomfortable silence, the VKP airspeeder picking its way carefully through lanes of sky traffic, a question wrinkled Floryn Korodoro's blue brow. Finally he spoke to LeSait. "In the city I saw that the ticker read 'Fon Popillon Cleared of Attempted Murder Charges.' Excuse my ignorance of the news, but the Fon Popillon in question wouldn't happen to be connected to Lumitar Fon Popillon of Lumitar Industries?"[/blockquote]

That would be the name of his picture. And it would portray the red stream inside the water and the raging snowflies in total precision and poetic depth. Yet, one thing he needed to do first. Any mystery had itÂ´s purpose. To understand the scene he would have liked to get the situuation as a whole. And he couldnÂ´t say he did yet. Mildly interested in the mystery and very interested in the details he walked therefore upstream with feverish dedication. It seemed like the blood poured out of the ground. Into the water. From the ground.

From the ground.

Calen knelt next to the water stream and considered this for a moment. "You know dear Captain, usually the question is so much more interesting than the answer. But to that rules, there are exceptions. This blood stream is like the boys in the cathedral. It promises for once, that the question is only the beginning. the story begins with the answer in this case. And that is a rare occurence. So where does it come from? Where? Where? Where?"

Taking a look over the shoulder he smiled about the Captain. Superstitious fool he was, the man would probably begin quoting some apocalyptic text any second now.

"Two possibilities arise and seem to be obvious answers to this riddle, dear Captain. The first is the most obvious. The End of Days." like a third grade actor from the markets of Trevi IV he allowed these words to find the right spot in his audiences heart. He was certain they did not miss their purpose. "The Apocalypse. The clear sign of supernatural powers taking control of our life TO MAKE US ALL PAY FOR OUR SINS!" He raised his voice. then laughed out. "And so on and so on. I assume blood in rivers is part of your religion as it is with most religions. A atavism frm more primitive time when the blood running down a stream was a clear sign of a lost war." Calen sighed. "Which leads us to the second alternative, which I would prefer the Guard of Lea Monde use as a working thesis in their soon be be announced investigation. This is someone spreading panic by using symbolism like this and possibly murder to scare us. A mastermind following a yet to be revealed plan towards another yet to be revealed end. In short. An ordinary criminal. With style and uasing extraoridnary means, but a criminal nevertheless." Calen stood up. "LetÂ´s follow the stream." he said and allowed the Captain to answer. he doubted much insight could be expected from this man. But he did not wanted to be unpolite.

As they came to a clearing, blood still flowing into the water, Calen saw the boy. a boy. Marcus? Martinus? Riot? He was so easy to forget the names of those who held little importance to him. He decided to take no chances. "Hello boy." He answered the greeting of the boy. "IsnÂ´t this an unusual stream youÂ´re sitting at? blood instead of water. These people really have strange habits, do they?" Calen joked and knelt besides the boy.

The riddle. Should he solve it?

Why not?

"Captain, why do you not take a probe of the blood?" He asked. "I know the boy."

And with that he walked over to the boy and went to one knee. He gave him a smile. Actually he knew how to smile charming. He just saw no reason to, usually.

"Tell me, boy. Did you see anything unusual lately? While sitting here? How long are you asitting here actually?" Calen tried to make the questions sound random and mildly interested. Yet the boy could give him valuable clues to encrypting the message behind the flow.

[ul]Glyndon stared at the blood in the Tircolas Flow. Still fascinated by what he saw. There was just so many questions racing through his scientific brain of his, he wondered if he could contain them all.

"This has never happened outside of legend," replied Eyre. "There are many tales of what this City was once like long ago, when it was still a dead land. Before it was restored by Joshua I. This...this is like something out of a faerie story."

"Interesting very interesting." Glyndon said while stroking his chin.

Not only were there questions on Glyndon's mind, but also a worry set in about his son. They came to Lea' Monde together hoping they could repair their relationship. Instead his son was selected to be a candidate for the throne. He only wanted Brendon to be happy and if it meant becoming King of Lea' Monde then so be it. He would support Brendon no matter what.

Still the situation has changed with this sudden occurrence. He did not want his son to be in over his head or be in danger. There was so much he didn't understand. He didn't want to panic just yet. This could be something that was just a freak accident. All Glyndon knew is he wanted to know more. Not only for his son's sake, but for his own peace of mind.

The Duros prophet had scurried away, blood on his hands and knees, still ranting and raving.

"THE RED QUEEN RETURNS!" he screamed at them as he left.

"The Red Queen?" Glyndon said with a baffled look on his face.

"Perhaps we should head back to the Cathedral soon," Eyre suggested. "I don't know what's happening, but this isn't a good omen."

Glyndon nodded in agreement. As he turned to leave he asked Eyre what he knew about the Red Queen the Duros shouted about.[/ul]